


And When It All Fades, Where Do We Go?

by soakyourskin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Implied Narrative-Set Leave, M/M, Post-Zayn One Direction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:38:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soakyourskin/pseuds/soakyourskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven’t talked about it, or they have, but always when they’re buzzed enough that they can claim to have forgotten the next day. Talks and quiet, shameful confessions about <em>do you think? </em>and <em>what if? </em>and <em>I’m starting to</em>—and uncertainty that bears down on both of them because they won’t, for a second, allow it to reach Harry or Niall. Won’t let them feel an ounce of doubt about anything.</p>
<p>They don’t talk about it when they go back to writing, finishing what they know are lyrics that lead to the same ending, asking the same question, words begging for the same reassurance they’re not nearly strong enough to ask of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And When It All Fades, Where Do We Go?

**Author's Note:**

> all lyrics are made by me xx

They’re in the studio, writing for the album just the two of them because it’s late— _even for us, we're really sorry guys_ —and Julian and the others had left them hours ago.

They’re writing and not really agreeing on anything, until Liam starts discussing the possible themes for the song and then it all becomes a bit easier.

“Just, like—just the idea of knowing the answer, the end result, of something but still needing the assurance, right?”

“Lyrics posed as questions, you mean?”

“Yeah. Exactly. I want it left unanswered, too you know, like. I want to hear the song and kind of just be left wondering.”

So that’s what they end up doing all night, losing track of time as they lose themselves in their art, and it’s probably the fastest they’ve ever gotten a song to halfway done that it surprises them a little. They’re yawning—cups staining the table as they put them down, bit of the ring of coffee and tea being soaked up by the papers—when they decide to read whatever they’ve jotted down so far, because it’s almost eight in the morning and they really ought to get some sleep in.

They’re not shy about it anymore when they read out loud, stopped being shy and concerned about what the other heard in their lines every time they did this because they’ve heard enough words and stories from late nights and strong hits, that subtlety in lyrics were a comfort.

Liam starts it off with the first verse and a bit of the bridge. Louis following with a bit of a pause after. Chorus coming with just enough hesitance that Liam wonders about it, until—

 

_Dangle us from your fingertips, coat us in grey as you exhale. Baby you got me reaching, craving for the bittersweet that remains._

_Breathe in and take all that I have. Ignite me from the inside. Breathe in, go on and say it now. The fire burns like you’re still mine._

 

It’s quiet for a time and when they catch each other’s eyes, Liam thinks they both know.

They haven’t talked about it, or they have, but always when they’re buzzed enough that they can claim to have forgotten the next day. Talks and quiet, shameful confessions about  _do you think?_ and  _what if?_ and  _I’m starting to_ —and uncertainty that bears down on both of them because they won’t, for a second, allow it to reach Harry or Niall. Won’t let them feel an ounce of doubt about anything.

They don’t talk about it when they go back to writing, finishing what they know are lyrics that lead to the same ending, asking the same question, words begging for the same reassurance they’re not nearly strong enough to ask of each other.

 

_Where does this go when we all burn out? Will we all burn out, or can we keep this alive? Where do we go when it all burns down? Will this all burn down with us in it alive?_

_—  
_

In the morning, when Harry and Niall come in with two cups of whatever will rouse the other two with the least amount of morning grump, they find Liam and Louis tangled up on the couch, heads knocked together like they’d been talking, seeking privacy even in the empty room, when they fell asleep.

They’ve got limbs intertwined at every possible angle, ink stains on their forearms, a bit of whatever spilled on Louis’ white shirt, wrinkles on Liam’s black one, but. There’s something different.

When Harry reaches Louis, he bends down, thumb pressing in between Louis’ eyebrows and finding no wrinkle. Not a single furrow, and it’s—it’s new. Or it’s new enough after such a long time of waking up next to him, watching frowns and worry line his face, that he’s wondering what happened to take it all away.

He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ lips, fingers trailing down to brush at the softness in his cheeks when Niall calls his name. It’s soft, and it’s rough, and Niall’s voice always sounded clearest in the mornings so he turns around.

It’s three wrinkled papers in his hand, but it’s the brightness in his eyes, the constant blinking that makes Harry move forward.

Harry’s eyes scan the pages after he takes them from him, feeling Niall move to stand behind him, chin placed over his shoulder as he reads the messy words—chicken-scratch that he knows is Louis'—again. He hears a sniffle, watches as a drop on the paper smudges the ink, and he thinks that it’s Niall, it's definitely Niall. But he feels that familiar scratch at the back of his throat, feels the warmth and blur coating his eyes as well, and he doesn’t say anything.


End file.
